“But, my lord,” breaks in the Alcaide, “if you know who the real man is, why do you command me to seek him?” To which shrewd question Don Pedro could find no reply; only if he hated the Alcaide before, he then and there resolved on the very next opportunity to cut off his head. “Now,” and the Alcaide looks the young king full in the face, “will my lord permit me to take leave in order to make preparation for the execution? I think you insisted on the third day from the murder, that is to-morrow? As you yourself will be present, all must be arranged with fitting care.” Then he called to him skilful Moorish artificers, for all the delicate work at that time was done by Moors, and caused them to construct during the night a life-sized figure or dummy, dressed in royal robes, to represent the king, a sword in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The next morning this figure was hung on a gibbet in the Plaza de San Francisco, Don Pedro himself being present, attended by all his court. How he looked or in what manner he explained so strange a proceeding, tradition does not say; but when the crowned dummy was swinging in the air, the king called the Alcaide to him and said, “Justice has been done--I am satisfied.” Ever since that time the spot where the King fought is called the “_Calle della Cabeza del Rey Don Pedro_,” and the narrow alley close by, where the old woman looked out of the window, the “_Calle del Candilejo_”; while, that there might be no mistake as to what took place there, a bust of Don Pedro is let into the wall. END OF VOLUME I * * * * * Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: familar tones of his voice=> familiar tones of his voice {pg 49} of those who who are dear to you=> of those who are dear to you {pg 173} it was the the discreet Ayub=> it was the discreet Ayub {pg 152} answed not a word=> answered not a word {pg 259} your kindgom between my three brother=> your kingdom between my three brother {pg 300} End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Court Life in Spain; vol. 1/2, by Frances Elliot